


Silver

by Capella (Caprina)



Series: Sea Longing Series [17]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprina/pseuds/Capella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding the perfect gift isn't easy.</p><p>Another sequel to 'The Sea of Sand', featuring its original characters and written in 2007 under the name Capella.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The market was hellishly busy. Half the city seemed to be out buying food, clothing and cooking pots, while the other half browsed around the stalls that sold trinkets and fancy goods. Scattered amongst them were a few boatloads of foreign visitors, instantly recognisable even from a distance by their inappropriate clothing and air of bewildered excitement. At closer range they could be heard haggling in over-loud voices, determined to bring down the price of an ornamental water pipe or woven woollen hanging to a mere five times the amount any self-respecting local would pay.

A cart full of tomatoes had overturned some time ago, on the corner by the entrance to the goldsmith's quarter. Naturally, nobody had waited for the wreckage to be cleared up. Impatient citizens and eager tourists had continued to go about their business, trampling their way through the carnage until the whole area was an unavoidable quagmire of pulverised fruit, littered with treacherous scraps of splintered wood. A group of small boys, scarlet from head to foot, were having the time of their lives - pelting each other with tomatoes and sliding around in the mess, giggling uncontrollably all the while.

The sandstorm of the previous night had subsided, leaving every surface that was neither moving nor painted with tomato flesh covered in a fine, grimy layer of dust. Although the sun was up to no more than half of its full height, the day was already fiercely hot, with a heavy humidity that made breathing difficult.

Kallim took in a lungful of scalding air, his nose wrinkling at the combined scents of spices and incense, animal dung and partially fermented tomato. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge the sweaty linen of his tunic from the skin of his back, and sighed.

It was good to be home.

Unpleasant as the prospect was, the tomato swamp would have to be negotiated if he was to reach his intended destination. He took a few moments to roll his loose dark trousers up to the knee, but his sandals could not be helped, since the alternative probably meant picking splinters out of his feet for the rest of the day. No matter; the shoes were old worn things of plaited rope and coarse skin anyway, and if a good scrubbing could not save them they would be no great loss. Only a fool would wear his best leather boots to the markets.

As he picked his way along the edge of the mess, Kallim kept an eye on the urchins playing there. When a scrawny brown arm raised itself, a handful of scarlet mush poised and ready to throw, he called out, "Don't even think about it, Yenni, or I'll see to it that your father gives you a thrashing you won't forget."

The boy's eyes widened at the mention of his name. He dropped his arm to his side and turned back to his friends, glancing nervously over his shoulder. Kallim grinned at his back and rounded the corner into the relative peace of Goldsmiths' Lane. There he paused for a second to roll his trousers down, inspecting his feet as he did so. The sandals might well be salvageable, if he could beg a bucket of water and a scrubbing brush from one of his acquaintances in the Quarter. He set off down the lane, wondering which of his friends was most likely to be around at this time of day.

He didn't get far before his thoughts were interrupted. 

"Kallim Almajarram! As I live, is that really you? Get yourself over here, boy, so I can take a closer look at you."

"You're not mistaken, Melika mediyella, it really is me."

The old woman sat at the entrance to her tiny shop, her black robed bulk all but blocking its doorway. Kallim crossed the alleyway to greet her, and perched, as indicated by her impatient gesture, on the stool by her side. She raised her fleshy hands, bedecked in a dozen oversized rings, to pinch his cheek and run her fingers across his shoulders.

"How long has it been? Six months?"

"Little more than five. We have had business in the far north this year."

"And how is it going there? Are you looking after yourself? I hear the food in the north tastes of nothing, and everything is cooked in lard! Have you been eating properly?"

"I am in the best of health, as you can see. The sailor's life agrees with me."

"I'm glad to hear it. Mezeth, look at the state of your feet! Those stupid bastards with the tomatoes, they couldn't drive a knife through a block of cheese. Nenna!"

She leaned back on her chair and shouted into the depths of the shop. A short while later, a small, pale girl appeared, carrying a tin bowl of water in both hands, and an ancient bristle brush under her arm. She kneeled to place the bowl at Kallim's feet, and would have washed them for him had he not insisted otherwise. 

While he scrubbed and rinsed, Melika gave him a colourful summary of happenings in the Quarter since his last visit. Pregnancy and scandal, an unexplained death, thousands lost in an unwary gamble - it all sounded like business as usual. Kallim listened with half an ear, exclaiming and laughing at strategic moments, until his sandals were as near to clean as they were likely to get; then he straightened up to smile at Melika.

"And what about that man of yours," she said, fixing him with a piercing stare. "Is he treating you well?"

"I am happy," Kallim said simply. "Can't you tell?"

"I suppose you're not here to buy from me, then."

"Not this time, I'm afraid." Long past glamour herself, Melika traded exclusively in feminine jewellery: the heavy bangles, necklaces and rings given as gifts to a new bride, and the gaudier pieces favoured by dancers and other professional women.

"Well, you tell your aunt that I've some earrings coming in next week that'll be perfect for her. I'll keep a couple of pairs back, you make sure you bring her in to have a look at them."

"I'll do that," Kallim agreed. "Thank you for the water, Melika."

Released at last from her attentions, he made his way down the narrow street. The buildings loomed closely enough to block out the sun and the air was still and fetid. The Quarter was not as busy as the main market since the goldsmiths traditionally did most of their business at night, but there was a steady flow of people to dodge, and shouts of greeting and insult (for the most part friendly) to reply to as he passed by the wooden stalls and stone doorways. He waved, called out promises of a visit in the near future and answered jibe with jibe, until he reached the dog-leg bend in the alley and the wide recessed entrance to the Keshiri brothers' shop.

"Well, well. The wanderer returns," Hallem said archly, rising from his stool behind the counter. "Are you here to buy, or just to grace us with your presence for a while before the sea calls you away once more?"

"Greetings to you too, Hallem," Kallim grinned. "I'm here to buy, as it happens, but if you're offering me a glass of tea, I won't refuse it."

The older man raised an eyebrow, but reached under the counter to produce a large brass pot and a glass. "Fresh brewed only three minutes past," he said. "So what are you looking for? I don't need to ask if you're well, that much is obvious."

"I'm buying for myself today," Kallim told him, "So don't show me the cheap stuff. Only the best. Rings, arm bands, that sort of thing."

"For a man?"

"For a man."

Hallem smirked, and ran a hand over his oiled black hair. "Come through to the back with me, and I'll show you something worth looking at. Give you my best price, too."

"Come off it, Hallem. You know that line never worked with me," Kallim said, laughing.

"Yes, you want to be careful, brother," a new voice interjected from the rear of the room. "Keep away from our pretty little Kallim, or his big strong captain will be down here to give you a good lashing."

Hallem's tone had been good-humoured, but Jerel's words were full of simmering malice. He stood in the doorway to the workshop, gazing at Kallim with unconcealed scorn.

Kallim sighed. He had heard far worse, and would do so again. "It's you who should watch it, Jerel. I may comb my hair and take a bath occasionally - a habit you could undoubtedly learn from – but I assure you I can still fight my own battles. I have no quarrel with Hallem." And I'll take his harmless flirtation over your vicious tongue any day of the month, you bigoted fool, he added silently. He turned his back very deliberately, and studied a display of bangles glittering beneath the glass. 

Hallem, whose first loyalty would always be to the prospect of a sale, wasted no time in shooing his brother back into the workshop and offering Kallim a chair at the counter. "Just ignore him, my friend," he said. "You know he spends far too much of his time in the back there. Here, have some tea."

Kallim raised his hands to show that no lasting offence had been taken, and accepted the tea gratefully. It was strong and sweet and lemony, just as Hallem had always liked it. 

They settled down to the serious business of sifting through trays of gold: heavy, masculine rings, some set with single stones, others decorated with carefully wrought patterns; wide armbands and cuffs; cloak pins and buckles; solid chains that lay in the hand with a satisfying weight. The quality of the work was excellent, and the designs both eye-catching and tasteful, but nothing struck Kallim as being exactly what he was looking for. Reaching to put his empty tea glass back on the tray, he looked up at the workshop doorway and caught a glimpse of Jerel walking past with his leather apron over his shoulder. In that instant he realised that he had been searching in the wrong place.

Black leather and gold were not a good combination.

"These are nice work," he told Hallem, handing back the tray of decorative cloak pins. "I'll take at least two dozen when we sail; they'll sell fast in the north. I don't think I'm buying anything today, though."

"You always were a tease," Hallem grumbled, slotting the tray back into its place on the shelf. "How long do you plan to be in town?"

"Three weeks, if all goes well. I'll be back to see you soon."

"I hope so."

Kallim took his leave as promptly as good manners would allow, and headed off down the street with new purpose, certain that his quarry was now in view. He took a sharp left turn behind the old temple, paused to allow a boy leading a donkey laden with folded blankets to pass through the ancient stone arch, then hurried through into Silver Street. The old man's workshop was the third on the right. Kallim pushed the door open and went inside.

Old Ranek had been trading on his reputation as the legendary blind silversmith for decades. The fact that Kallim knew every one of his talented and sharp-eyed assistants by name, and had downed a jug of ale with a couple of them on more than one occasion, did not detract from the quality of the pieces he sold. It might be worth looking around for the best deal when shopping for gold, but for silver there was nowhere else.

"Young Master Kallim, is that you?" Ranek raised his head, his sightless eyes seeming to focus somewhere slightly behind Kallim's left shoulder. Whether he recognised the individual step of each of his customers, or whether the dull-witted nephew stationed at the door to prevent theft saw them coming and warned him of their approach, Kallim could never be sure.

"Greetings, Ranek. I trust that life is treating you well?" He crossed the gloomy room and took the old man's outstretched hand.

"Well enough, my son, well enough. Sit you down and tell me what you have been doing all these months."

Two glasses of lemon tea and a pipe of sweet honey tobacco later, Kallim finally explained what he was looking for. 

"Ah," Ranek said. "I believe I may have just the thing." He ran his fingers across the old wooden cabinet behind his desk, reading the raised markings on the drawers, before pulling out a shallow tray containing eight thick chains of medium length. 

Kallim had not really been considering a neck chain, but as soon as he saw this one, he knew it was right. The links formed three interlocking strands that twisted around each other, giving the impression of rope - a suitably nautical touch. The workmanship was so fine, however, that the chain ran through his fingers more like silk than rough hemp. It was a lovely thing, solid and understated; and in short, perfect for Gedrinel.

"This is the one," he told Ranek.

"Yes," the old man replied, his fingers recognising the piece at once. "This is exceptional craftsmanship, very detailed..."

"I know what it's worth," Kallim said quickly, "and I'll give you a fair price, don't worry."

"Of course. You know, it was designed to be worn with one of these." Ranek dug around in one of the lower drawers and produced a long belt, based on the same rope design but with the strands interwoven to give a flattened plaited effect, about two fingers in width. 

"I have no use for a belt," Kallim said, frowning. Such an ostentatiously heavy piece must surely be difficult to sell, which might be to his advantage. "As a wristband, though, it would work very well. Could you do that for me? The rest of it would make several more the same, or a shorter belt, I suppose."

"For you?" Ranek said, measuring Kallim's wrist with the loop of his forefinger and thumb.

"No, his arm is maybe two tenths more around."

"It'll cost you."

"Naturally. But you'll do it?" 

"For you, Master Kallim, only for you."

"Make a good job of it, and I'll take another forty of the engraved goblets from you when we sail at the end of the month."

The old man laughed, showing gaps between brown-stained teeth. "It's always a pleasure doing business with you, my son. I'll have it ready by sundown."

It did not take long to complete the details of their transaction. Kallim soon found himself back out on the street, more than satisfied with his purchase and filled with enthusiasm for the remainder of the day's activities. 

He had found the perfect gift for Gedrinel. Now it was time to make him some serious money.


	2. Chapter 2

When he got back to the house, Kallim headed straight for his room and a much-needed wash and change of clothes. He lingered for a while in front of the dresser, brushing out and tying back his hair, and simply enjoying the cool spaciousness of his own familiar quarters. It was one of the things he had missed most. The Captain's cabin on the Silver Lynx was comfortable and well designed, but it could hardly be described as roomy. Gedrinel's house down by the docks in Dol Amroth was even less so; it might as well be on board ship for all the unused space within it. 

Kallim's room, by contrast, was high-ceilinged, sparsely furnished, and protected from the worst of the heat by its heavy stone walls and marble floor. Even with Gedrinel's belongings installed there alongside his own, the overwhelming impression was one of peaceful emptiness. And, of course, it harboured an enormous and extremely solid bed - a luxury he fully intended to make the most of later that night. 

Examining himself in the mirror, Kallim decided that life at sea had done nothing to damage his looks. His skin was a little darker these days, which only made his teeth seem whiter, his eyes livelier and the gold at his ears and throat more prominent. A lengthy session with Umbar's best barber had left him smooth-cheeked and presentable - every inch the southern gentleman, at least on the surface. He grinned at his reflection, straightened the neck of his tunic, and crossed to the door. 

He found Gedrinel up on the roof terrace, playing cards with Rekia. Zirri was entertaining a client down in the courtyard; the rumble of his laughter could occasionally be heard through the music of the flute and lyre. On the terrace the table was set for three, and the appetisers, plates of olives and pickles and cubes of marinated cheese, had already been subjected to a fairly serious attack.

"You started without me," Kallim said, bending to press his lips to the top of Gedrinel's head. He met Rekia's smile and returned her slight nod of greeting.

"What did you expect?" Gedrinel said, reaching a hand up to Kallim's shoulder and squeezing, the most Kallim could expect from him in front of Rekia. "We were beginning to think you'd found more exciting company for the evening."

"Impossible," Kallim announced, settling himself on one of the empty chairs. "And don't be short with me; it's not as if I've been out wasting my time on fripperies. I've worked some very good deals on your behalf today."

"I can well believe it." Gedrinel raised an eyebrow, and handed Kallim the olives.

"Is your brother not joining us tonight?" Kallim asked Rekia. It had become Meh'ten's habit to dine at Zirri's house twice a week.

"No, the Governor has him tied to his desk until the new trade agreements are complete, or at least that is how he tells it in his message. I suspect his own perfectionism keeps him there until the candle burns out," Rekia said with a gentle laugh.

"Perhaps the truth is a little of both," Kallim suggested. 

He chewed his way through a handful of olives while the others resumed their game - with Rekia well on the way to thrashing Gedrinel, by the looks of things - and tried not to feel grateful for Meh'ten's absence. He was a thoroughly decent man, of course, but he could be quite painfully earnest. His gratitude towards Gedrinel and Kallim for their part in Rekia's rescue from her sadistic husband was only matched by his obvious discomfort at any overt expression of affection between them. Kallim was inclined to ignore the fact, but Gedrinel, always acutely sensitive to the opinions of others, became a man-shaped block of wood in Meh'ten's presence. 

Luckily Rekia herself was unperturbed by the nature of their relationship. She had even gone so far as to apologise for her brother's manner during their last visit to Umbar. It was not disapproval, by any means, she had assured Kallim; but simply an extension of his general reserve about physical matters, in which he lacked experience. He had grown used to Zirri's company, but even that had taken time. Privately, Kallim was convinced that a night or two with Zirri in her professional capacity would cure most of the man's ills, but he knew better than to make such a suggestion. Zirri had very clear boundaries; and as far as she was concerned, Rekia and Meh'ten were family.

Rekia relieved Gedrinel of his last card just in time for the servants to clear the table and bring out the food. A whole fresh fish baked in salt, great rounds of bread warm from the oven and a selection of sharp and spicy salads were set before them. It was the perfect meal for such a night. Kallim stretched his legs out and reached for a plate.

As they ate, they chatted of inconsequential matters, sharing the best of the gossip from the markets and the docks. Rekia washed her food down with a glass of honeyed lemon juice, while Gedrinel and Kallim mixed their wine with water as a concession to the heat. The humidity had decreased somewhat, but despite the lively seaward breeze that made the night bearable and carried snatches of song and laughter from the neighbouring rooftops, the temperature was still unusually high. 

Kallim watched the sweat forming on Gedrinel's neck where his white linen collar fell open, and imagined its taste upon his tongue. His lover would be more comfortable if he could be persuaded to dress sensibly; but he would not under any circumstances relinquish his breeches and shirt in favour of the looser southern clothes.

Rekia looked far cooler in her long gown of soft blue cotton. It occurred to Kallim that she rarely wore any other colour. He thought of the night when they had brought her from S'fayyah, her terribly wounded body wrapped in an indigo-dyed cloak, and wondered if it was coincidence. 

"You said you have a new song for me?" Rekia asked, as the plates were cleared away.

"Ah, please, spare us," Kallim sighed.

"Now, Kallim, you know that Gedrinel only sings to indulge me," she said.

"Which just shows that you are a woman with most unusual tastes," Kallim retorted.

Though she herself was an unexceptional singer, Rekia adored traditional airs and shanties. Gedrinel had made it his personal business to present her with fresh material each time they returned to Umbar. Unfortunately his enthusiasm greatly outclassed the quality of his voice, which was rather more shrike than nightingale.

"You have no room to talk," Gedrinel said. "At least I can hold a tune, which is more than can be said of you."

Kallim had to concede, since this was undisputed fact. "Alas!" he sighed dramatically, "I have all the rhythm and none of the notes to go with it." 

"Stick to the dancing, and you'll go far," Gedrinel said dryly.

Kallim kicked his leg under the table, but said nothing more. He picked up the cards and dealt himself a hand of solo while Gedrinel started his song. It was a typically miserable affair about a man so long at sea that he fears to lose his mind, with only the thought of his sweetheart sustaining him. He returns home to find that she has upped and married his brother, so he goes back out to sea, where, blinded by his grief, he loses his hold in the rigging and plunges to a grim death, calling out her name all the while. 

Rekia was enchanted, and begged Gedrinel to sing it again so that she might begin to commit the words to memory. 

"Well, that was certainly cheerful," Kallim commented, as the song came to an end for the second time. He abandoned his game - luck did not seem to be with him, and playing alone was never as much fun as a real contest - and left the cards as they lay on the table. "Don't you know any happy songs?"

"But I like the melancholy ones," Rekia said. "I imagine that the sailors, so far from their loved ones for so long, must feel dreadfully lonely at times."

Aye, when they're not howling drunk, cheating at dice, or groping each other under cover of darkness, Kallim thought. He said nothing, of course. Far be it from him to destroy Rekia's romantic illusions.

"Besides, if you want merry songs, you need Legolas to sing them to you, not me," Gedrinel was saying. "He has tunes that would put the spring back in the step of a ninety year old cripple."

"And elvish songs go on for days," Kallim added. "Legolas usually claims to have forgotten half the verses, but I'm sure it's only to spare the mere mortals among us. When did he ever really forget anything?"

Rekia smiled, her face softening as it always did when they spoke of Legolas.

"He is hoping that you will feel strong enough to make the journey north in the autumn, or maybe next spring," Gedrinel said, pouring himself another glass, more water than wine this time.

"Yes, he says as much in his letters."

"Legolas is writing Haradin now?" Kallim asked. He supposed it should come as no surprise.

"No, Meh'ten translates them for me. He makes me a fair copy, so I can read them over and again at my leisure."

"That's nice," Kallim said. It was an inadequate response, he realised, watching Rekia's manner change as she picked at a loose thread in the fabric of her robe where it stretched across her knees. Her smile faded and a haunted expression took its place. In the flickering lamplight, her face, with its tragic web of scars, looked strangely hollow.

Kallim exchanged a quick frown with Gedrinel, but they were saved from having to find words to break the silence by an unfortunate accident of timing. From one of the rooms below came a series of masculine grunts and shouts - the unmistakeable sound of a man achieving satisfaction, and too lost in his own pleasure to worry if the whole world might hear him.

Despite his anxiety about Rekia, Kallim found himself grinning. "Another happy customer," he said.

"Kallim!" Gedrinel was genuinely disapproving, but Rekia shook her head.

"You cannot deny that he is right," she said, gathering the folds of her robe and getting to her feet. "Well, Nemediyyin, I must bid you goodnight. The heat has quite exhausted me."

Gedrinel stood at once, and offered her a slight bow. "Goodnight, Rekia. Shall we play again tomorrow? You must give me the chance to take my revenge."

"Very well." She nodded graciously. "May you walk in pleasant dreams tonight."

"You're going to lose again," Kallim said, as Rekia vanished around the corner of the staircase.

"I know."

"It's strange; she almost seems to know the card before you turn it."

"I had noticed," Gedrinel said with a wry smile.

"Do you think she always had the gift, or has something of Legolas stayed with her?"

"It's hard to tell." Gedrinel frowned as he leaned forward in his chair to slap at an insect on his ankle. "She yearns to see him again, doesn't she?"

"Of course she does. But I cannot see how it is going to happen." 

Zirri had already confirmed that Rekia's condition had changed little since their last visit. For all her apparent serenity and the continued healing of her external scars, she was far from well, and in the months since they had brought her to Umbar, she had not once set foot outside the house. At first, Zirri had tried to encourage her to venture out; but, faced with Rekia’s panic-stricken intransigence, she had let the matter drop. 

"She will walk outside when she is ready," Zirri had told Kallim; but he knew her too well to underestimate the depth of her disquiet.

"If anyone's going to help her, it's Legolas," Kallim said, "but if she is going to visit him in the north, he will have to come and fetch her himself -" he stopped, blinked, and stared at Gedrinel, who looked thoughtful. "Would he do it, do you think?"

"Probably not this year," Gedrinel said slowly. "He has his own people's affairs to consider, after all. But maybe in the spring?"

"Imrahil would want to come with him, I have no doubt."

"Imrahil is already sufficiently concerned about Rekia's well-being. I imagine that once we tell him how things stand, he will wish to do whatever is necessary..."

"I think," Kallim said firmly, "that we have a mission to fulfil here, you and I."

Gedrinel nodded. "It will be no hardship."

"Even if she insists on taking Meh'ten with her? I cannot see her leaving him behind."

"He suffers so acutely from his guilt on her behalf. I imagine that he could do with a little elvish healing, himself."

"Perhaps," Kallim said doubtfully, considering. Maybe Gedrinel was right: if Zirri could not sort Meh'ten out, might Legolas be the one to do it? Not that the elf would employ Zirri's customary methods, of course - he spluttered into his wineglass as a disturbing image appeared, fully formed, in his mind. 

Shaking his head, Kallim searched around for something to distract him from the unsettling picture. His gaze settled on the cards, still strewn across the table where he had left them. He reached across to collect them and started to shuffle, as Gedrinel watched him, a question in his eyes.

"Enough serious talk for tonight," Kallim said. "A silver piece says I can take you."

"You think so?" Gedrinel said, his eyebrows raised.

"Are you man enough to try me?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

Kallim returned his knowing grin. "Very well then; best of three." He pulled his chair up to the table, and began to deal.


	3. Chapter 3

Pleasure was too flimsy a word for it, Kallim decided.

He lay motionless for a while on his back, his arms still stretched above his head, as he waited for his breathing to settle and his scattered wits to converge into something resembling a brain. Once he felt sure that he was in full control of his limbs, he rolled to the edge of the bed, got to his feet and stretched, glad to be free of the clinging dampness of the sheets.

He went first to the tall cupboard to find two clean cloths, then to the dresser to wring them out in the deep pewter bowl. The water was tepid, but nonetheless felt wonderful against his overheated skin. He washed himself slowly, then threw the used cloth into the basket before taking the other to the bedside to tend to his lover where he lay sprawled semi-conscious across the mattress.

Gedrinel did not seem to be too impressed by his efforts. "By all the gods, Kallim, are you going to let me get any rest tonight?" he groaned. "I suspect you've already done me lasting damage. Can't you just leave me to sleep it off?"

Kallim, quite accustomed to such grumbling, carried on wiping the moist cloth over Gedrinel's solidly muscular thighs.

"You have nothing to complain about, Zereniyya," he said briskly. "That second time was your idea, if you recall."

"Well, what was I supposed to do, with you rubbing up against me like that?"

"Show some restraint, perhaps? I was only trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in."

"Bollocks," said Gedrinel shortly. 

"Mmm." Kallim smiled to himself, and ran the cloth lightly over the items in question, only to have his hand swatted away. 

"Truly, Kallim, I know that the word 'enough' is not in your vocabulary, but you have to give me a chance here. Have you forgotten that I'm not as young as you?"

"Hardly," Kallim laughed. "In fact -" he finished up with a lingering swipe across Gedrinel's belly and dropped the cloth to the floor. Reaching to the lamp on the side table, he adjusted the wick to cast a little more light in the room. He delved in the cupboard below the tabletop as Gedrinel stirred restlessly and pushed up on an elbow to squint at him.

"On this, of all days, I could not forget it," Kallim announced, locating the box at the back of the shelf and pulling it out to present it to his lover. "It is your birthday, after all."

"Tomorrow," Gedrinel said.

"Oh, come on. It has to be long past midnight by now. You can sleep as long as you like in the morning, but I want you to open this now." It seemed important to present the gift to Gedrinel - and see his reaction to it - without delay, although he could not have explained why.

Gedrinel must have sensed the real need behind his impatience. "Very well," he said, blinking into the light and pushing strands of his long dark hair, loosened from their leather band by the night's exertions, back behind his ears. He shifted higher on the bed, plumping a pillow into place at his back, then took the box from Kallim's outstretched hand. Turning it round and round, he examined the outside thoroughly, before lifting it to his ear and shaking gently. Finally, he untied the black ribbon and removed the lid to study the contents.

"Happy birthday," Kallim said quietly.

"Ah, this is... this is wonderful," Gedrinel said, taking the chain out of the box and running it from one hand to another, then holding it up to catch the light. "It's a lovely piece."

"There's more," Kallim said, frowning.

With the chain still draped over his hand, Gedrinel moved aside the soft paper nestling in the box and discovered the second part of his gift. His eyes widened noticeably. 

"Oh!"

"Put them on," Kallim urged him.

The chain was the perfect length, sitting low enough on Gedrinel's neck to be comfortable, but high enough to show in the open collar of a shirt, and to avoid snagging on the dark hairs of his chest. Silver was absolutely right for his colouring, Kallim realised. Where gold might make his skin appear sallow, the silver complemented its slightly olive tones and the clear grey of his eyes beautifully. 

"It looks so good on you," Kallim said. "Here, let me help you with that."

Ranek's assistants had made an excellent job of finishing the wristband; the triple clasp closed firmly with no chance of springing open unexpectedly, and there were no loose parts to catch on the Lynx's rigging - or on Kallim's hair, for that matter. 

Kallim sat back and drank in the sight of his lover, naked but for the silver at his neck and wrist, and nodded happily. The new adornments only emphasised Gedrinel's tall, solid physique. "You should see yourself. Wait."

He crossed quickly to the table and returned with the small mirror in his hand. "See how good the silver is against your skin?" 

Gedrinel took the mirror and angled it to stare at the chain around his neck. "Thank you," he said at last. "This is a wonderful gift."

"You really like it?"

"I do." He laid the mirror on the side table and reached for Kallim, drawing him in for a soft yet lingering kiss, then pulled back to look him in the eye. "I thought you might have bought me gold, and I'll admit, I was a little worried. I don't think I could wear it with quite your... flamboyance. But this, these, are exactly right. I shall wear them every day."

"I couldn't hope for more," Kallim said. He moved the box and its lid out of the way and swung his legs up onto the mattress to lie at his lover's side. His fingers played across the silver chain, following its twisted lines and gently stroking the warm, damp flesh beneath it. 

"Mmm." Gedrinel said, relaxing into his touch.

"The silver will look particularly handsome with your leather jerkin and breeches," Kallim commented. The image conjured by the words was enough to make his heart beat fast.

"Well, you'll have to wait to see that, I'm afraid," Gedrinel laughed, his hand closing over Kallim's and holding it still against his breastbone. "Even for you, I shan't be putting those on until this damnable weather cools down significantly. I'm sweating at the very thought."

"You should let me take you to my tailor tomorrow," Kallim said. "Old Menesh will make you a suitably manly outfit, something in grey, perhaps. It would have to be more comfortable than cramming yourself into close-fitting breeches in all this heat."

"I'd look like a fool," Gedrinel objected.

"Legolas and Imrahil wore Haradin dress when they were here. Did they look like fools?"

Gedrinel snorted, his chest jerking under Kallim's hand. "You're hardly comparing like with like, there. Those two could drape themselves in flour sacks and still look elegant. On me, the tunic and trousers would be ridiculous."

"I don't see why," Kallim said.

"I'd look like one of those Gondorian numbskulls who come down here with a handful of newly-minted gold and three words of Haradin, buy themselves a cheap villa in the south, and think they've gone native. You see them often enough in the coffee shops, and hear the way the locals talk about them."

Kallim raised his head to stare at Gedrinel in astonishment. "Do you really think anyone would see you in that light?" he asked incredulously. "You are already well known and respected throughout this city. Nobody is going to think the worse of you because you choose to dress sensibly in the heat."

"Hmm," Gedrinel said, without conviction. 

"Come on, Zereniyya. You worry far too much about others' opinions."

"Is it not wise that I should do so? Our friendship is public knowledge as it is, and you know quite well that there are those who do not exactly respect either of us for it. I have no wish to draw any further attention to myself, for your sake as well as mine."

Kallim sighed, thinking of the look on Jerel's face in the silver shop that morning. His were not the only cutting words that Kallim had encountered throughout the day. It was a reality that Kallim had learned to live with many years ago; to Gedrinel it was all still painfully new. 

"I understand," he said, sinking back down to the pillow and pressing his lips against Gedrinel's neck, "but I honestly don't think that the way you dress will make any difference to those types. They will find plenty to criticise, in any case."

"You may be right," Gedrinel admitted. He rolled to his side and threw an arm across Kallim's waist. "I'd still feel a fool in trousers, though."

"Why not try one outfit, and just wear it here in the house to begin with? I am sure Zirri will give you her honest opinion."

"You will have your way in the end, won't you?" Gedrinel murmured, not quite laughing.

"I always do, don't I?" Kallim met Gedrinel's lips with his own, and ran his tongue across them slowly. "You should know better than to resist, by now."

They kissed for a time with a lazy, sated heat. Gedrinel's hand flattened across Kallim's lower back to pull him fractionally closer, as Kallim stroked up his lover's arm to finger the chain at his neck. Eventually they drew apart and smiled at each other.

"I would take you again if I thought my body could manage it," Gedrinel said with a grin. "As it is, I think you'll have to wait until morning. That's what you get for choosing to spend your time with such an old man."

"You'll hear no complaints," Kallim said, rolling onto his back to let some cooler air flow between them. "As long as you choose to spend your time with me."

Gedrinel followed Kallim's example in turning onto his back, while Kallim reached out to dim the lamp. With his other hand, he traced the limp length of Gedrinel's arm until he got to the wrist. His fingers and thumb loosely circled the silver band there as he shut his eyes.

Sleep, however, was not swift in claiming him.

"Gedrinel?" he said, a while later.

"Hrmm?"

"I was thinking about Legolas and Imrahil coming down here to fetch Rekia."

"Hmmm."

"I cannot imagine that they would travel all this way and not stay a while. Perhaps they will wish to see a little more of the country."

Gedrinel's groan clearly expressed his displeasure at being woken once again, but he roused himself sufficiently to say, "My prince and his friend are not idle layabouts with nothing to do but please themselves, you know. There are affairs of state to consider."

"Pfuh. Legolas himself has told me that his colony in Ithilien has no real need of governance. And Prince Merenin is more than capable of running Belfalas in Imrahil's absence. I think it will be easy enough to persuade them to join us on another adventure in the desert. Perhaps we will travel due south this time, to visit the ancient Corsair forts and the caves at Kherin T'ziyyah..."

"Kallim?"

"Yes, Zereniyya?"

"Do you love me, even the slightest bit?"

"You know I do."

"Then for pity's sake, let me sleep."

Kallim laughed softly, and stroked Gedrinel's wrist with gentle fingers. "I'm sorry," he said. "I suppose it will wait until the morning."

Gedrinel did not answer, his breathing already deepening into a quiet snore.

Kallim stared into the darkness, allowing his imagination free rein. His thoughts were a jumble of scorching sands and endless seas, the thunder of hooves on an empty road, the laughter of friends gathered round a fire at dusk, the glorious skies of morning over a barren yet majestic landscape...

It was a while before he settled into sleep, and even then the desert wind blew fiercely through his dreams.


End file.
